Page 24 of Wateredge

Thankfully, Lark seemed oblivious to Seren’s temptation.

“And these muffins look yummy.”

“They are indeed yummy. Deryn made a batch a few hours ago. I’ll reheat one for you. Go ahead and sit down, I’ll bring your order right away.”

Lark blinked and bit her lip one more time. Seren tilted her head in question. Lark clearly dug for courage again.

“How much do I owe you?”

Seren grinned, happy to be able to surprise this woman. Plus, nobody said she was not charming or that chivalry was dead.

“Oh, nothing. A pretty woman should be treated now and again.” She reached for the tongs to pull the muffin out, but Lark shook her head, stopping her in her tracks.

“I’d like to pay, if that’s all right with you.” With that, Lark lifted her chin a notch, defiance shining in her eyes so brightly that Seren almost dropped the tongs. It was… like watching the sun burst through the clouds. Lark—the scared, timid, apprehensive woman of not even three minutes ago—stood her ground and dropped a ten-dollar bill on the counter before slowly, in this careful gait of hers, making her way toward the table by the window.

Seren was both impressed and chastised. Which was, well, impressive, for lack of a better word. Lark confused her. Lark drew her in and disarmed her in the same fell swoop.

Well, that’s that for the famed charm of yours, Seren…

She watched Lark settle at the table, determined not to look at her sisters. Still, as she turned to make the coffee, she caught their faces, the glee they failed at concealing written all over them.

An hour later, Rhiannon and Ceridwen had left, and Lark was among the last people in the coffee shop. Seren looked at the couple scrolling on their phones while ignoring both their coffees and each other’s existence, and sighed.

They were local. She had gone to school with the man, and the woman was a former Dragonette, a graduate of the Dragons School For Girls. Just a few years ago, they seemed happy. Now they were almost strangers. Seren wondered absently what had happened.

In the far corner, Lark sat quietly and almost motionless, completely absorbed in her book, eyes glued to the page, the coffee forgotten in front of her, the muffin carefully packed away in one of the large, colorful napkins Seren offered her earlier. She was such a stark, dissonant note in comparison to the absent, fiddly, careless presence of the couple.

Lark felt so alive, so vivid, even in her washed-out clothes. Seren almost smiled at the turn her own thoughts took. She shook her head at herself.

Clearly, you are enchanted, Seren Crowhart.

The doorbell jingled, and a buxom blonde with crimson lips waltzed in. Seren wanted to duck behind the counter. Valiantly, she stood her ground, but it was a close call.

“Oh, Captain, my captain!” Jenny smiled and undid her parka. Seren nearly dropped the dish towel. The tank top underneath was ridiculous. As in ridiculously revealing.

“That’s not the correct use of that poem,” Seren said and turned to the soda fridge, knowing Jenny would get something cheap and then spend hours at the counter attempting to pressure her into lunch. Or dinner. Or just a tumble. Seren had never given her the time of day, and the persistence was becoming upsetting. Seren allowed the unpleasantness to color her tone. She might lose a customer, but she was tired of being treated like a hunk of meat.

“And what is that poem even about, Seren baby?”

“That’s Whitman’s elegy for dead Lincoln, ma’am. It’s appropriate for funerals and memorials. Maybe less so for flirting.”

At the words, Seren did drop the towel. Lark was on the other side of the cash register now, leaning close, her hands folded over her book, her expression unreadable.

“Ah… Lark… Can I help you with anything?” Seren picked up the towel and decided to play along.

“Lark? You’re the new flower girl? Or is it the new dishwasher girl?” Jenny’s smile was all fake sugar. Almost aspartame.

“Fingers crossed, I’ll be able to help out at the Refuge as well.” Lark looked at her short nails.

“Well, you are indeed a very busy girl, so why are you wasting your time here?” Jenny’s smile was all teeth now.

Lark returned it with one of her own. Seren watched them like a spectator at a tennis match.

“I was promised a cappuccino on the house. And how about another muffin? I came to collect.” Lark’s eyes drifted toward Seren, expression open and congenial. Jenny’s smile was wiped out immediately.

“There is no accounting for taste, honestly.” In a flurry of green sparkly parka, Jenny was gone.

Seren exhaled then allowed her shoulders to relax. Lark was still looking at her, though much of her reserved expression was back.